


This is Me

by Syrum



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cute, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:56:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3115784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Lavellan wants is for Cole to change his clothes.</p>
<p>Set just before the Orlesian ball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Me

**Author's Note:**

> Short thing inspired by a comment made by a friend on Facebook.

The inquisitor sighed, her shoulders sagging as Cole stared quizzically at her from under the wide brim of his hat. He couldn’t understand why she was so frustrated with him, the tiny elf grasping a shirt in her clenched fists, the fabric creasing under the pressure, a pile of apparently matching clothing in reds and golds folded neatly on the bed behind her. For all his talent in reading others and their thoughts, the most he was getting from her at the moment was ‘stupid Cole’, and he wasn’t sure whether to try to help or not.

“I just need you to try them on.” She insisted, trying to give the boy her best pleading stare as he blinked owlishly at her.

“Try what on?” She was certain, absolutely positive, that he was trying to play her for a fool. How else could this have gone on all afternoon? This couldn’t be naivety, not to this extent, and she was reaching the end of her tether. The Empress’ ball was fast approaching, Dorian and Bull were nowhere to be found and thus hadn’t even been measured yet for their outfits, there were a thousand and one things to be organised beforehand and she certainly did not need this from Cole as well.

“These!” She snapped, thrusting the shirt forward at the spirit, closely followed by the now decidedly un-neat pile of accompanying garments. “Just get changed, we need to make sure it all fits before the ball.” Cole had tried to hold onto the pile she had all but thrown at him, but his arms could only carry so much, and a pair of brightly coloured dress-pants now pooled at his feet.

“But how can I change? I’m me. These are me.” Cole glanced down at himself, at the clothes that were as much a part of him as his hair or his hands.

“Yes, and you can’t attend the ball dressed like that.” She stooped to pick up the discarded pants, stepping back and busying herself folding them once more.

“They won’t see me, they won’t need to see me, I can stay hidden, stay secret, watching.” Bubbling annoyance, fading, swallow it down, not his fault not his fault. Focus, too much to do, so very tired. She didn’t seem to notice him reading her, too wrapped up in what was going around in her head, lists and letters and too much for one person to handle.

“And what if I need them to see you?” She needed him there, he was her ears when she needed him to be, he heard and felt more than anyone else could.

“Then they will see, and they will see me, and this is me.” Cole listened, and he heard, but he could not understand. She was getting angry now, he felt it, like bubbles of hot red bursting inside her mind, making her unstable.

“Just try the damn clothes on, Cole.” She threw the pants at him then, turning on her heel and storming from the room without looking back, her back a hard line as the door slammed behind her.

“I can make them forget?” He called after her hopefully, picking the pants up from where they had fallen not a foot from where the Inquisitor had been standing, her throwing arm apparently requiring some work. There came no response from the elf, so Cole decided to fold the items of clothing, leaving them in a neat pile on the end of Lavellan’s bed as there was little else he could think to do with them. He would fix it later, make her happy again. Honey in her tea would help.


End file.
